


Of Blades and Books

by RandyPandy



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Blood Drinking, Character Study, Chrom!Inigo, Gen, Henry!Laurent, Hidden Truths DLC, Owain accidentally metagames because he's Owain, Post-Awakening, Pre-Awakening, Pre-Fire Emblem Fates, robin!owain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:55:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24210961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RandyPandy/pseuds/RandyPandy
Summary: He told himself that he was not Grima’s child, and he would not fight like Grima would. That meant no Thunder magic, no Dark magic, no magic period. He would not cast a spell that could rain destruction from the heavens, or sap the life out of an unfortunate soul.Or: Why Owain picked up a sword and rejected magic. And why Odin put down his sword and embraced magic.
Relationships: Eudes | Owain & Odin
Comments: 4
Kudos: 79





	Of Blades and Books

**Author's Note:**

> Man, when I first had Robin marry Lissa in my Awakening file and wrote Robin!Owain (and I like to reclass Odin as Grandmaster in Fates for that purpose, he pulls the class and outfit off pretty well), I’d never imagined that he’d become one of my top Owains to write about. But there’s just so much potential in a child that is both of Naga’s and Grima’s lineages.

Magic had always been a part of Owain’s life.

At first, he had been enthusiastic about magic. As a child, Owain had watched in awe as his father cast spells in the battlefield, as much of a master of the mystical arts as he was of tactics. When Robin had taken him onto his lap and had offered to teach him magic, a seven-year-old Owain had eagerly agreed, while his five-year-old sister, Morgan, had watched in awe.

Casting his first Thunder spell had been frustrating, but he had managed to get it in the end. His father had beamed at him in pride.

“I’m going to be the strongest mage ever!” he’d declared proudly. “Like the hero from my favorite stories! I’ll cast all sorts of spells to help people!”

Robin had chuckled and ruffled his hair. “I’m sure you will be, Owain.”

Oh, had little Owain dreamed.

* * *

The _thing_ wearing his father’s face specialized in magic.

Owain stared at his tomes – mostly consisting of Thunder, Elthunder, Arcthunder, and even a Thoron. The latter was Grima’s favorite whenever the dragon wasn’t casting Grima’s Truth or Expiration. Already, whenever he or Laurent had cast a small Thunder against their enemies, he could already see the rest of their friends flinching.

To be fair, Owain flinched, too.

He couldn’t keep doing this. Performing magic reminded him of his father, who had been destroyed completely, of Grima, who befouled his father’s name in his mind by his mere existence, and of his little sister, who was lost to him. It probably wasn’t a fair conclusion, as his mother had been a fairly accomplished sage and a wielder of magic herself, but she had preferred to be a healer more and had rarely cast offensive magic – that had been all Robin and Morgan.

Owain pulled his gloves off. On one wrist was the Brand of the Exalt, proof of his divine lineage descended from Naga. This brought him hope. On the other wrist was the Mark of the Defile, evidence of his Fell blood descended from Grima. This brought him despair.

He put his gloves back on, hiding both of the marks from view. He told himself that he was _not_ Grima’s child, and he would not fight like Grima would. That meant no Thunder magic, no Dark magic, no magic _period._ He would not cast a spell that could rain destruction from the heavens, or sap the life out of an unfortunate soul.

He saw Lucina and her brother, taking up the sword, Lucina with the divine blade Falchion and Inigo with an ordinary Steel Sword, but a sword, nonetheless. Swords were respectable weapons that didn’t have the imagery of a mad Fell Dragon attached to them, and in the case of Falchion, swords brought hope.

He made a decision. He was going to give up magic, and wield a sword. Owain had some skill with a sword due to his uncle Chrom training him before his death. Sure, he probably wasn’t as good as Lucina or Inigo, but it would have to be enough.

* * *

Laurent had stared at him above his glasses, causing Owain to fidget awkwardly. “Your talent and skill with magic is equal to my own, Owain, if not greater. It is unthinkable that you wish to abandon the pursuit of this field to commit yourself to swordplay. What logic are you using?” In other words, he was baffled.

“Alas, but there is nothing that I can do!” Owain had said, plastering a fake smile that he’d picked up from Inigo on his face. “Naturally, the greatest mage in all of history shall be you, Laurent, pursuer of the Sage and Dark magics! That is why I felt that these tomes were more befitting of such a powerful sage!”

“Didn’t you say a few minutes ago that the ‘greatest mage in all of history’ was Odin Dark?” Inigo said dryly, butting into their conversation.

Owain blushed. “W-Well, but neither Odin Dark nor his compatriots are here! And Hoshido and Nohr are myths! A fable to be passed down through the ages!”

It wasn’t as if the three mythological Vallite Hearts (Odin Dark, Laslow, and Selena) were real people, but ever since he had been a child, Owain _had_ always loved the tales of Odin Dark: the stories of how he defeated the spirits in the Woods of the Forlorn and his discovery of the lodestone imbued with the essence of darkness were amazing, true, as was the tale of him and his friends befriending a powerful god, but what had impressed Owain the most (which he would never admit it) was Odin’s _fearlessness_ of the immensely powerful magic that he commanded.

The legends spoke him casting spells with a mere thought and a flick of the fingers, commanding more raw talent and power inside of him than most skilled mages were able to learn in a lifetime. Such power could have easily destroyed the world in the blink of an eye had Odin so desired. And yet he had only used the magic to help others and end the Great War of Fates.

“Truly, Odin Dark is a man worthy of being a legendary hero,” Owain stated sagely.

“Which is why you’ve started talking and writing in your stupid diary just like how he wrote in those books, right?” Inigo said, rolling his eyes.

“I have no idea what you speak of, Inigo,” Owain said, furrowing his brow. “And I truly wish to bequeath these tomes to Laurent.”

There was silence as Inigo and Laurent shared a look with each other. Owain could swear that he saw a look of concern on his (annoying) younger cousin’s face. Laurent… with his glasses and the way he hid his face in the shadow of his mother’s hat, he wasn’t sure, but he could swear he could see the concern as well.

“Besides, Laurent, you have the blood of two of the most powerful mages in all of history: Miriel, Sage of the Endless Pursuits and Henry, Crow Whispering Sorcerer!” Owain continued. “Your knowledge surpasses all who have ever considered the art!”

“Miriel and Henry were nice, but those are pretty dumb monikers,” Inigo muttered under his breath. Owain jabbed him in the stomach with two fingers, causing Inigo to grunt. “Gah!”

“My point being,” Owain continued as if he hadn’t just attacked his cousin. “As I have no further plans to study magic, I felt that it is best that these tomes go to you, as you are the only other person that is capable of utilizing such powerful spells as these!” He paused. “And take care to name them something brilliant!”

“Wait- you’re not only giving up magic, but you didn’t _name_ your tomes? Who are you and what have you done to my cousin?!” Inigo sputtered. Owain ignored him.

Laurent gave a sigh, but he reached out and accepted the tomes from Owain; they couldn’t afford to waste _any_ resources right now. “If you truly desire this, Owain, then so be it. But... do understand. All my studies have shown that running from something you fear is never helpful.”

Owain frowned. “I am not running, Laurent, but thank you for the advice.”

He was definitely running.

“So uh… since you’re not going to fight with magic, you’re committed to fighting with a sword like Laurent said earlier?” Inigo asked, scratching his head.

“Of course!” Owain grinned at his cousin, looping an arm around his shoulders. Inigo squawked and tried to pull away, but Owain simply squeezed him closer, more to irritate Inigo than out of affection. “After all, my sword hand hungers!”

“Oh my _gods_ , you’re so dumb.”

* * *

He hadn’t realized just how much seeing his parents again would _hurt_.

Lissa, Princess of Ylisse, too bright and too open and too _young_ – Owain _knew_ that he was older than her at this point in time – and Robin, Grandmaster of Ylisse, gentle and kind and firm. When had Lissa become a master of Fire and Thunder and Wind magic? When had Robin grown his magic to exponential levels?

Their confusion when they’d learned that they, two magic-wielding parents, had borne a child that preferred the sword over the tome had nearly broken Owain’s heart, but he hadn’t had the heart to tell them the reason why. He’d just stated that his uncle Chrom had trained him with a sword and that they’d given all the tomes they found to Laurent so that he could defend himself (with two mages for parents, he was not the most physically strong).

He alone knew that Grima had taken over Robin’s body, and he _knew_ that he should tell Lucina and Chrom about it (but his uncle and mother looked so _happy_ with the Robin of this time; whenever Lucina had seen Grima, he’d always been shrouded in shadows, and she was extremely fond of her 'Uncle Robin').

But he just hadn’t been able to; the words wouldn’t come out whenever he tried, his tongue becoming twisted despite his normally verbose nature. It was the same whenever one of the Shepherds curiously brought up that it was interesting that the child of two magic-wielders used a physical weapon.

“…Owain,” Robin had finally said one day, his voice soft. Gods, they looked the same age at this point in time. “Was there a reason that I never taught you magic?”

“You taught me,” Owain muttered, feeling too drained to keep his mask up. “Before you, er, died. I was able to cast Elthunder by then. But after your death, I put them down and picked up the sword. It was easier to take out Risen with a sword, plus Laurent needed them more.”

It wasn’t the truth. But he _couldn’t_ tell him that the mere thought of being around him when they were in battle made something inside of him freeze.

“I see,” Robin said, seeming to deflate. “…Um. Would you ever want to learn again?”

Owain tried not to look conflicted; the lessons with his father, studying magic and feeling the tingle of spells on his fingertips, were something that he had sorely missed, and normally he would be eager to take up the lessons again.

However, it was hard to look at Robin and not remember Grima, the malicious look on his face as he cast a Thoron or Ruin on some unfortunate Ylissean soldier.

(He had also not forgotten the smirk on Grima’s face when, after capturing ‘his’ wayward son, had attempted to coax him to his side, and had struck him with a few spells as a means of ‘convincing’ him when Owain had refused. Nor had he forgotten the gleeful delight on it after Grima had cornered a runaway and defiant Owain on a rope bridge, had purposely used a spell to set it on fire so that Owain had a horrifying few seconds of pure terror before it had collapsed and had dropped him into the gorge; while he’d miraculously survived the fall long enough for his friends to find him, he hadn’t been able to get on a bridge without trembling since then.)

“Perhaps we can find time after the war once you are not busy?” Owain suggested finally.

Robin looked disappointed, and Owain mentally winced, realizing that he had hurt his father. “Perhaps.”

Once Robin was gone, Owain whispered an apology.

* * *

He had never picked up a tome again during the war against Grima.

After the war, once Grima had been defeated and everyone had spare time, Owain had gone on a journey to ‘strengthen his sword hand’, as he called it. It was the best excuse that he could think of so that he wouldn’t have to face his father and see the other’s hurt when he realized that Owain was traumatized by the mere idea of doing magic – of being reminded of the destruction that Grima had rained down on the world with Dark and Thunder magic.

Inigo and Severa, bless them, had come with him. Severa because she couldn’t stand being too close to her mother and her younger self, and Inigo because he and Owain had always been together, through thick and thin.

It was for the best that they distance themselves from Ylisse, anyways.

Owain wasn’t _this_ Robin and Lissa’s _real_ child. No, that child was the little boy was running around screaming attack names at the top of his lungs in their home while his infant sister watched in fascination. _That_ little boy would grow up sitting on his father’s lap, intrigued by the magical tomes that Robin would show him, and happily start casting spells. Without Grima, he would have no reason to fear the choking miasma of Dark magic, or the crackling energy of Thunder magic.

He would grow up happier, safer, and less _fearful_ than him.

And it hurt.

Grima was gone. Robin would never become Grima’s Vessel. Owain had no more reason to fear magic.

He needed to take the steps to get over it.

* * *

Owain couldn’t stop staring at his wrists.

Anankos had altered their appearances before bringing them to his homeland (Valla? The mythical kingdom?), concerned that they would be tracked and the people close to them were attacked. It had come with a set of conditions that Owain hadn’t even realized would be there.

For one, his (and Inigo’s) Brand of Naga was gone. But also gone was the Mark of the Defile. Owain stared at the smooth, plain skin on his arms, lightly pinching where the Mark used to be with his other hand. Was he dreaming?

The slight twinge of pain told him that no, he wasn’t.

The fact that Naga’s Brand was gone was unnerving. It had always been proof that he was of divine lineage, that he (and his mother, who had never had the Brand) were truly members of the royal family of Ylisse. He wasn’t sure if he liked that.

But…

 _That_ Mark was also gone. Temporary or not, the physical evidence that he was of Grima’s blood was _finally gone_.

He wanted to cry with relief.

* * *

“I have granted your wish for the future that you have come from… but for the favor that you will be doing, I feel as if it isn’t enough for me, that I haven’t done something that you can see the effects of here and now,” Anankos admitted to them, dropping his hands to his sides. “I can easily offer you power and the ability to control the Dragon Veins with a blood pact, but please, if there is anything else that the three of you would like…”

Severa had immediately requested the ability to have extra defenses, no matter what. Typical; she had always preferred to play it safe when it came to combat, not wanting to get killed or so injured that it ruined her looks.

Even less surprising was Inigo, who had hopefully piped up with the fact that he would like his dancing to have invigorative energy, like his mother’s. Such a mama’s boy. That had always been something that he had dreamed of doing, even if Owain privately thought that even without magic, Inigo could bring hopes and smiles with his dancing.

As for Owain… he’d hesitated the longest, his two friends eyeing him with some concern. With their fidgeting and Severa’s grumbling, it was Anankos who was the most patient with him, the human fragment of the dragon gazing at him like a concerned parent, gold eyes soft and kind.

He would be going to a new world, with new people, with only his cousin and their best friend by his side. The fear that he had of using magic, especially of dark magic, was mostly because he was in the shadows of his father (of Grima). In a world where no one knew him, where there was no danger of Grima looming over his head in both a physical and metaphorical sense…

Perhaps he could fully embrace this side of himself, the side of his Fell Blood.

“I… wish to possess the Shadowgift,” he finally said before he could stop himself; the Shadowgift would allow him to perform even the most _dangerous_ dark magic spells and rituals without any drawbacks; while he was already capable of it due to Grima’s blood, it still didn’t render him immune to drawbacks. “And the ability to cast any type of spell and magic at a whim, without concern for my energy levels.”

 _Both_ Inigo and Severa whipped their heads around to stare at him, and Owain pointedly chose not to look at their faces. Let them think what they wanted. But he _needed_ to get over this, and the best way to do so?

 _Force_ himself to exclusively use magic.

Nodding, Anankos looked thoughtful as he murmured something, and pulled out a dagger, before pressing the sharp edge against his own arm. Blood, not at all colored like human blood, dripped out of the dragon god’s arm.

“Then so be it. As long as you seek my goal, I bless you and give you new names: Laslow, Odin, and Selena, my Vallite Hearts. Partake in the drink of blood, and the pact between us will be sealed.”

He was being named Odin and called a—

Oh.

_Oh._

He took a deep breath. _Oh gods_. He was his _own_ hero. The _pressure_ that he felt now was _unreal_.

Fearless.

Odin was supposed to be fearless, Owain told himself, as he pressed Anankos’s blood to his lips. Unlike the bitter, coppery taste of human blood, Anankos’s blood tasted like refreshing spring water to a parched throat, peaceful dreams to a restless mind, and hope to those that despaired. He felt it seep inside of him, spreading warmth throughout his body, and then the dragon god’s mind touched his for the briefest of moments, gentle and reassuring and somehow _all-knowing_ , whispering, ‘ _Do not be afraid, young Odin. You have taken the first step.’_

As he felt the tingle of magic flowing inside of his veins, aching in a way that wide open magical channels could, he decided that he was going to prove Anankos right. He was going to conquer it. He was going to become the Odin Dark that he had so admired in his youth. Even if he still had a crutch, that he could use swords if magic became too much for him, he didn’t want to let himself down by not living up to the legend.

When the Vallite soldiers, led by that girl, Lilith, ambushed them, Owain – Odin – tested out his new abilities by casting an Arcthunder at them. It was almost effortless; he’d barely had to think about it before the lightning magic had ripped through several of the undead soldiers.

And for the first time, he didn’t find himself flinching at the ease at which he did so.

Despite the situation that they were in, a huge smile crossed Odin’s face as he cast more spells. The inner seven-year-old that had wanted to be the strongest mage ever was squealing gleefully.

He could do this.

**Author's Note:**

> Fun Fact: If Corrin speaks to Chrom during the Before Awakening DLC, Chrom will refer to Hoshido and Nohr as mythical kingdoms and that there aren’t many people that haven’t heard a story about them.
> 
> I took a lot of liberties with the Hidden Truths DLC events. No way would they have time to perform a blood pact while they’re fighting for their lives. That was purely due to a gameplay perspective.


End file.
